


The Demon and the Night King

by nickahontas



Series: The Valaena Verse [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: (From canon perspectives), Arranged Marriage, F/M, Rhaegar is not a good guy in this one, Self-Insert, The Long Night, platonic marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas
Summary: When Robert Baratheon takes King’s Landing, Stannis comes a week later with Rhaegar’s sister in tow. He is forced to marry Valaena Targaryen, Lyanna’s best friend and foster sister, for the good of the realm. They must learn to work together to defend the peace their marriage has bought.—————————A self-insert told from canon perspectives.
Relationships: Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark, Robert Baratheon/Original Female Character, Robert Baratheon/Valaena Targaryen
Series: The Valaena Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714522
Comments: 9
Kudos: 100





	The Demon and the Night King

They found her in the Kingswood. Robert hadn’t quite believed them, but here she is. He can smell her awful stench even from atop the throne. Valaena Targaryen stands tall and proud at the foot of the blasted thing. Even beneath the grime and filth, there’s no denying her beauty. Long legs, full lips, and soft curves. Everything about her is wrong, though. Silver hair. Lone purple eye. And Lya had been so short.

“Couldn’t you clean her up first?” He asks. “She reeks to the seventh hell.”

Stannis clenches his jaw. “She’s a prisoner.”

Robert snorts. “She’s a girl.”

“A girl that’s killed three of my men.”

The girl in question raises her chin and stares up at him defiantly, her remaining eye glinting in the bright sunlight. She’s not a girl, not really.There’s no denying that.

“Are you going to rape me?” She demands, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “Bash my head against a wall? Stab me half a hundred times? Crush my head in with your bare hands?”

The court, sparse as it is, draws a collective breath. None of them dare to move, though he can sense their fear. Almost taste it. They want to flee, the cowards.

Robert feels his fury begin to boil, swirling inside, gathering itself like storm clouds over the sea. They were there, just there to the left of her. Little bodies laid out at his feet. The prince had been the same size as Mya, reduced to nothing but mush. There had been too many thoughts to sort through, too many emotions twisting his gut, so he’d gone with the easiest one. Just as he does now.

“I want nothing more than to bash your chest in like I did your brother,” he snarls.

“Arthur Dayne killed my brother” she snaps.

“Valaena is a Stark,” a deep voice booms.

Rickard Stark strides forward to glare up at him. He still as tall and strong as the Wall, but there’s a new hardness to his eyes. They say it first began when Valaena Targaryen thundered through the gates of Riverrun on a dying her horse, half dead and missing an eye and a foster sister. That strange new glint hardened to an eerie malice when news came of Brandon’s death. Of Lya’s death. He’s more wolf than man now, the poor fuck.

“Valaena has shed blood and tears for Winterfell. She shed blood and tears for the Stark name. I’ve already torn the Seven Kingdoms apart for one daughter. I’ll burn it down for the other.”

The crowd begins murmuring at his words. Out of the corner of his eye, Robert sees Jon shuffle forward and Stannis sigh in grim acceptance.

“SILENCE!” He bellows.

Only Rickard does not flinch. Only Rickard keeps his head raised in a taunt. Fucking Starks. Gods, how he loves them. They’re the only ones with any spine.

“Take her away,” he commands, waving his hand dismissively. “Take her away until I decide what to do with her.”

He knows, though. He knows what he has to do. The thought makes him sick at his stomach, but he knows.   
  


* * *

It’s Ned that brings her next. The small council room is mockingly bright from the sun’s cheerful rays filtering through the stained glass. They are arranged around a long table, the most powerful men in the realm. Anyone else might be riveted with wonder and awe. Robert just wants a drink.

“You know why you’re here?” Robert asks.

She stares at him, lilac eye narrowed in suspicion. She’s pulled a Bloodraven and refused to wear an eyepatch. Robert can respect that at least. Oswell Whent did it, if her tale is true. Cut his blade right down her face, gave her a scar from brow to lip and sliced her eyeball in half. The maester at Riverrun had to burn it shut to keep her alive. It would have been better if he hadn’t. 

Her good eye darts to Stannis at his left and Jon on his right, before settling on Tywin Lannister. They glare at one another like alley cats sizing the other up. Pathetic.All of this is pathetic. He has half a mind to kill them all. Tywin, Hoster, the dragonwhore. Just kill them all and let it begin anew.

“Valaena!” Robert snaps.

Slowly, reluctantly, she turns back to him.

“You’re here to marry me off to someone.” She tips her chin and sets her jaw. “I won’t marry a Lannister. I’ll slit my throat before I continue that cursed line.”

He hates himself for it, but he can’t help laughing. She’s bold. He’ll give her that.

“You’re marrying me,” he tells her.

She blanches, jolting back in her seat so hard the chair nearly topples. Ned shifts worriedly at her side. Robert laughs again. He’d done the same thing when Jon put his foot down the night before.

“Please,” she says, clutching at Rickard’s arm desperately. “Please. I don’t want to be queen. I want to go home.”

Rickard stares down at her in that new cold way of his. “This is the best way to serve the North, Valaena. You bled for it. Killed for it. Now you must suffer for it.”

She licks her lips several times as she thinks it through. He can see the moment she accepts her fate, see the moment the fire in her is extinguished. It seems to burn out all at once in a terrible crescendo.

“Alright,” she says, removing her hand. Her other one slips into Ned’s. She grips it so hard that her knuckles turn white, but ever dutiful Ned doesn’t even wince.“Alright. I’ll do it, but I have concessions.”

“You don’t have the-“ Robert begins. 

“She has me,” Rickard cuts in. “She has the North. If you want peace, you will listen to my daughter’s demands and you will consider them.”

Red hot fury washes over Robert, burning at his cheeks and tightening his lungs.

“Robert, hear her out at least,” Jon says wearily.

He mistakes Robert’s silence for acquiescence and smiles kindly at her, motioning for her to continue.

“I want Brandon’s son legitimized.”

Everyone blinks. Even Robert is startled out of his growing rage.

“He doesn’t have to be the heir, I just-”

“Done,” Jon says.

She shifts a little in her seat, her spine straightening as she musters her confidence.

“You won’t keep me from training,” she declares.

Rickard pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up at the vaulted ceiling in a silent plea to the gods. Ned, strange enough, is holding back a smile. He squeezes her hand gently. His soft reassurance seems to renew her strength, for she sits straighter in her chair and loosens her death grip on his hand.

“I’ll do my queenly duties. I’ll take care of all the lady politics and the philanthropy and shit out a few babes. I’ll do it all and I’ll do it without complaint so long as you don’t keep me out of the training yard.”

“Princess-“

“I held off Oswell Whent in full plate armor. He would’ve cut through every one of you without half a thought. Except Robert, of course.”

“He took your eye,” Robert points out. 

“Because the fucking bastards attacked us in our riding leathers!”

Hoster Tully scoffs disgustedly. “Cowards.”

Robert sighs and sinks back into his chair. He’s spent the past year thinking about that day, thinking about all the what if’s. What if he’d been there? What if they had more guards? What if Lya had more than a dagger? What if Brandon had gone with them? What if, what if, what if.

What if she were here? As he mulls it over, he realizes that it wouldn’t be very different. After King Aerys gave Rickard the okay to let the Princess play at swords, he had no reason to deny Lya. Every letter she wrote always talked about horses and swords and Valaena and Benjen. If she were here, she’d be demanding the same thing.

“Fine,” he says.

He frowns. Everyone at the table is arguing. Valaena’s remaining eye looks like it’s about explode out of pure fury. Ned looks like he’s trying to sink through the floor. Rickard looks like he’s about to say fuck it and kill them all. Robert can sympathize with that.

“I SAID FINE!” Robert bellows.

All of them, the most powerful men on the continent, stop at the sound of his voice. A kingly voice, Bess had once called it. (Sweet, loud Bess and her tits.) It has served him well with women and the war. Maybe it’ll serve him well in this shithole too.

“Let her have her bloody sword.”

“Robert, she’s a woman!” Stannis cries. “Women don’t-“

“Tell that to the three men of yours she killed,” Robert replies. He rounds on his new bride. “Anything else you want while we’re at it? Dark Sister? The Stepstones? Anything for my dear beloved.”

She raises her brows. It’s an odd expression on someone with one eye. Gods, he’ll have to look at it when he fucks her, won’t he? Maybe she’ll have nice tits. Yes. It looks like she might under that ridiculous jerkin of hers.

“Gregor Clegane.”

And that, Robert decides, is enough kinging for one day.  
  


* * *

  
Robert hates King’s Landing. Always has. It‘s not just the stench or the humidity. It’s the people. They writhe around one another, snapping and biting for just a promise of power. Here, atop his throne, its even more evident. How they whisper and glance or don’t. Robert isn’t stupid. Never has been. He just doesn’t give a shit.

He glances over at his betrothed. She’s as miserable as he is. Her pretty face hardens with each passing moment. She is Stannis resorting himself to a long sermon or Ned preparing for a shift in the laundry. (Robert and Ned respect laundresses. Jon Arryn made sure of that. It was his preferred punishment for when they did something particularly stupid.)

Valaena Targaryen must feel his gaze on her, because she inches closer to his side. It was Jon’s idea to have her stand next to him. The chivalrous thing to do would be to order a chair brought in, but he’s Robert Baratheon. His concept of chivalry is making sure his whores cum first when he’s not too drunk.

“Good morrow, my darling,” Valaena greets sweetly.

“Wench,” he grunts.

She snorts and looks out over the assembly.

“It’s packed today,” she notes. “Rats darting out from their shadows at the first scent of cheese.”

“Vipers, more like.”

She hums. “Vipers are much more impressive.”

He frowns. That’s true.

Finally, the last of them slip through the engraved iron doors. He’ll have to do something about those doors. It was easy enough to order the dragon skulls out. Replacing massive iron doors is something else altogether.

“You’ll have to get it started,” Valaena whispers.

“What? Why? I thought Jon wanted you to speak.”

“Changed their mind. I scare them too much.”

Robert rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what you say, just get the damn thing going.”

She shrugs and strides forward to stand at the edge of the stairs. He could kick her. It wouldn’t kill her. Might sprain her wrist. Black her other eye. Maybe black her bad one. What would that look like?

“Good morning.”

Everyone scampers to bow. They gaze up at her like they do Robert. Part fear, part lust, part veneration. She’s put on a dress for the occasion, the first one he’s seen her in since Harrenhal. She is lovely. He’d be a fool to try and say otherwise. The grey silk hugs the lean muscles of her body, draping off the slope of her ass and the curve of her hips. Short sleeves reveal a gash down one bicep and a thick pink line across her forearm. He wonders what her belly looks like. They say Oswell Whent almost gutted her, that she arrived on her horse with her intestines in one hand and an eyeball into the other.

“My name is Valaena Targaryen, soon to be Baratheon, but I will always consider myself a Stark.” She pauses for effect, her one eye glaring out them, begging them to say otherwise. “The Starks taught me to be just and strong. The Targaryens taught me to be hard and ruthless.”

A different sort of silence takes over the Throne Room. Even Ser Barristan stiffens at her words.

“I will not lie to you. I will not be a gentle queen, but I will try to be a fair one. Robert and I will do all that we can to bring peace and prosperity back to the realm. For that to happen, things must change. Our society has been stagnant for far too long. I hope that you all work with us to achieve our goals.”

A smattering of unsure applause rings through the hall. She curtsies to them before motioning for the first order of business to begin. Robert watches her return to his side. What things does she want to change? Probably something to do with the dragonspawn in Essos, no doubt.

Sure enough, Jaime Lannister strides into the hall with an arrogant smile and new silk doublet. He bows to them with a flourish, his golden hair catching the sunlight. Robert’s never wanted to punch anyone more.

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” Jon says at the foot of the throne, “you are brought before your kingto answer for your crimes of oathbreaking and regicide. How do you plead?”

The boy’s smile is blinding. “Guilty.”

A low murmur breaks out amongst the audience. The smug git is eating up every bit of it, too.

“You think this is funny? Breaking a holy vow? Killing your king?”

“What a king he was,” Ser Jaime drawls.

Valaena takes a step forward to draw his attention. His smile dies as he looks up at her. Something in his demeanor changes. Does looking at her make him regret it? Does it make him feel like Robert did looking down at those bodies? Or make him want to do it all over again?

“What a king he was,” she repeats, her head titled to the side like some bird. “Ser Barristan.”

The new Lord Commander twists around to bow to her. His armor hardly makes a noise.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Do you know why I was sent to Winterfell? Did anyone ever tell you? Did you ever hear anything?”

“Prince Rhaegar did not want to marry his sister, so they thought separating you might make the task easier. Of course, the betrothal was eventually broken so it mattered not.”

“It mattered not,” she echoes. Robert startles at the venom in her voice. He shuffles around on the throne, avoiding a tricky blade, to better reach her. She’s wild. Unpredictable. A dragon raised by wolves. Only the gods know what she thinks she capable of.

“That’s a fine story, but it’s not the truth. Not the entire truth, anyway.” She exhales heavily and turns back to the crowd. “When I was five name days old, I woke up to my father looming over me, his hand on my thigh.”

Someone gasps but the rest are silent. Unsurprised.

“He never did anything. Just stared at me with those eyes of his. It terrified me. Terrified me so much that I sought out my brother, something I never did. Rhaegar intimidated me. He was my crown prince before he was my brother and I knew not to interrupt him. He was to be my husband and my mother never interrupted her kingly brother.”

She sighs again, her right hand clenching and unclenching. Ned does that sometimes. Did Lyanna?

“I’d never seen Rhaegar be anything other than polite and lordly, so when I told him and he got this look in his eyes....I’d never seen anything like it. Not even on Father. I was out of the city within the hour, sitting in front of Ser Gerold while he raced away from the city like a madman. I loved them for it. Both of them. Later, when Lya and I were out on our ride, when they came upon our clearing that day in the Riverlands, something in my chest twisted and ripped. Something in me changed. I stopped trying to believe the lies I told myself the moment I saw Ser Gerold break through the trees.”

She rounds on Ser Jaime in a swirl of grey silk.

“Tell me, Jaime Lannister, when did you stop believing your lies?”

His emerald gaze is unyielding and unflinching as he says, “When I stood outside your mother’s door and listened to her brother rape her bloody.”

Robert’s stomach turns. He looks away, his attention catching on Ser Barristan’s white cloak. The things his brothers must have seen. Must have done. And none of them did anything about it. No one except the Kingslayer.

“What did he do?” Valaena demands. “What did he do that changed you? What did he do that made something inside you twist and rip? What was your turning point?”

“Burn them,” Jaime Lannister says and his eyes are unfocused, seeing something days past. “Burn them all, he said. Let Robert be king of ash and bone. I killed Rossart first before he could deliver the message. Then I killed Aerys before he could make the command again. And I’ve spent the last five days hunting down everyone else that knew.”

“Knew? Knew what?” Jon Arryn suddenly demands.

Jaime Lannister’s smile is blinding. “About the caches of wildfire under the city.”

Robert’s stomach drops through the throne, just as the room erupts in chaos.

* * *

Robert never thought much about his wedding. Never cared enough to. He figured he’d give Lya whatever she wanted and that would be the end of it. He’s a king now, though. His wedding isn’t for him or his wretched bride. It’s for the realm. For the deafening crowd outside the walls, for the sycophants staring up at him in wonder.

Rickard Stark walks her down the aisle. Even Robert does a double take when she enters. Her dress is sleeveless and tight again, only this time it is pitch black. It seems to suck up all the light in the room. Her maiden cloak is what holds their attention, makes them gape and gasp. It is the snow white of House Stark and held together by a plain iron clasp. When she climbs the steps to stand at his side, he sees that the back is embroidered with a snarling grey dragon.

The septon has a hat more ostentatious than the crown Jon commissioned for Robert. Strange how a man needs golds and rubies and sapphires to hear the gods better.

“I always thought I would get married in a godswood,” Valaena murmurs, perhaps more to herself than him.

He grunts in agreement.

They’re quiet once more, watching the old man’s lips move, studying how the jewels in his hat reflects on the walls. If Robert focuses on one beam of color, he can force himself into a sort of waking sleep. He and Stannis perfected it as children. Their father would always chuckle and wipe the drool off their chins after.

After a long while, Valaena squeezes his hand, jolting him out of his stupor. “You call me Lyanna tonight,” she hisses, nails digging into his skin, “and I swear to every shit god there is that I’ll raise your children to know you as Brandon.“

Robert’s laugh booms out of him, drowning out the septon and echoing off the stone walls. The sept goes utterly silent except for a scandalized gasp. The fat septon’s wormy lips open and close stupidly.

“Don’t worry over it, Septon,” Robert comforts him. “No blessing from any god will make this marriage work.”

Val laughs too, just as loud and freely as he did. The fat man gulps nervously as he turns back to his book. Robert settles in, picks a jet of blue light, and lets his mind float into nothingness.

His bride pinches his wrist when the fat prick finally shuts up. Robert says his lines, listens to hers, and places the crown on her silver head. There are nearly a hundred crowns in the Targaryen vault, yet she chose the plain golden circlet of Aegon the Broken. The Dragonbane. He can’t decide if she’s mocking him or simply prefers its modesty.

They exit to deafening applause. The smallfolk cheer and scream as they wave their banners. Stags and dragons alike dance over them like mocking clouds. Their procession takes an age. Her ceremony in the Godswood is shorter than the time it takes to get there. After, he’s finally seated in the Great Hall with an overflowing plate of pork and a tankard of ale.

Robert drinks until Rickard Stark cuts him off. When he begins to protest, Ned steps in between them.

“She was a maiden in Stark colors, Robert. I can’t allow you to disrespect her.”

“And you’re a fool if you think Lyanna would,” Rickard adds.

The Old Wolf seems satisfied with Robert’s gruff nod. Ned, however, lingers behind.

“She’s my sister more than she ever was his,” he says. “She and Lya and Ben used to climb into my bed almost every night. We’d tell each other stories and sneak down to the kitchens for warm milk. She’s our sister, Robert. If you can’t love her for herself, you can at least try to love her for that.”

Ned leaves him alone in the alcove, his mind racing and his heart heavy. There are too many emotions to go through, so he picks the easiest one. He storms out onto the dance floor and pulls the first girl he sees into a lively reel. He dances and laughs and sneaks as much wine as he can. 

Hours later, Jon calls for the bedding and Robert is swept up in a storm of soft hands and loud giggles. He laughs along with them, teasing them, making them blush. They leave him naked and grinning outside the bedchamber, but his smile dies when he remembers who is waiting on the other side.

As much as Robert hates Targaryens, he’s only a man. All the blood rushes to his cock when he sees her waiting for him on the bed. He’s never seen anything like her. She’s all long limbs and lean muscle and mottled flesh. She’s got just as many scars as he does. It’s easy to forget she was there on the Trident, fighting right alongside Roose Bolton. She fought alongside Lya, too. Fought for her.She was the one who watched it all start, who struck the first blow, spilled the first blood.

Robert fucks her. He isn’t mean or rough about it, but he can’t bring himself to pretend. He doesn’t think she wants him to either. Not until he collapses beside her and feels her shoulders shake.

“Are you crying?” He asks incredulously.

“No!” She sobs.

Realization dawns and guilt churns in his stomach. Or it could just be the wine. He managed to sneak quite a lot after Rickard and Tywin disappeared into that damned alcove. Only the gods know what that conversation was about.

“Are you...Were you a maiden?” When she only sniffles, he knows he’s fucked up. “Ah, shit. I didn’t know. I thought with how you talk about Brandon and no maidenhead-“

“Of course I don’t have a maidenhead! Do you know many times I’ve been cunt punted?”

Robert snorts as he forces himself to his feet. “Cunt punt.” 

He wets the towel on the dresser and washes himself off, then offers it to Valaena. Her cheeks darken and she ducks her head as she takes it to clean herself. Robert rolls his eyes.

“A fucking war veteran embarrassed by a little bodily fluid?”

She scowls and hurls it at him, but he dodges easily enough.

“It’s different and you know it.”

“Not really,” he shrugs. He eyes her critically. Her chest is flushed, but there aren’t any other spots or bruises. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I tried not to.”

“Couldn’t be helped.”

He sighs again and flops down on the bed beside her. She cries out in alarm, eye going wide as the frame shakes. He almost wishes it would break. What a story that would be. They’d go down in history for more than a rebellion.

Robert props himself up on one elbow and studies her. He thinks about what Ned said, about her being his sister more than Rhaegar’s. It’s hard to believe in the night. Targaryens are made for the night, his grandfather used to say. Her hair looks white under the moon and the shadows of her face turn her scar into something horrid. He raises a finger to trace it. The skin is rough and bubbled under his touch.

“Can you feel this?”

“A little. Not much.”

She won’t look at him. He can’t say he blames her.

“If I knew it was your first time, I would have been gentler,” he says. “I would have kissed you maybe.”

She lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Rhaegar.”

Robert stills. She goes on, either unaware or uncaring.

“I tried to imagine him sometimes, but I couldn’t. It felt wrong. I would remind myself that he rescued me, that he seemed to be everything that our father wasn’t. It never worked. His face always turned into Brandon’s.”

“Did Brandon love you back?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

She flips over and meets his gaze for the first time. He fights back the uneasiness crawling up his spine and forces himself to hold her stare.

“Do you really want to know the truth about Lya?”

He swallows thickly as he nods.

“She hated you in the beginning,” she says, and his heart picks up. “She was furious with Ned, but I pulled out all of his letters and pointed out everything he said about you and asked if you seemed like the kind of man to lock her up. Then I reminded her how close Storm’s End is to the Capital and how often she and I could see each other. She started writing to you after that.”

“But did she love me?”

“She was scared. Women have to leave everything behind when they marry. A girl from the North more than most. And then after Harrenhal...” Valaena licks her lips nervously. “Something happened. She never told me what, but she crawled into my bed and asked me if she thought you would keep her safe. After that night, she used to smile when your name came up. She talked about having me and Ben and Ned over to hunt at Storm’s End. She wasn’t happy, not yet. She was more content, I think.”

“So she didn’t love me.”

“She was starting too.”

Robert’s heart breaks. It shatters into a thousand pieces like Rhaegar’s must have.

“I want to kill him again,” he rasps. “I want to raise him up and bash his chest in again and again.”

“Sometimes I wish I got to him first,” she whispers. “I know it’s awful. I know it’s kinslaying, but he took everything from me. How could he leave his wife like that? His son? His daughter?“

He almost tells her, then. Maybe it’s the wine or the truths, but he almost tells her.

Everyone knows Rhaegar’s last words were a woman’s name. No one thinks to ask his killer which one it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify in case it wasn't clear:
> 
> In this AU, Valaena prevented Brandon and Rickard from confronting Aerys in King's Landing. Instead, Brandon went to the Tower of Joy, where he died killing Arthur Dayne. He claimed Lyanna and Rhaegar's son, Jon, as his own bastard via Howland Reed (the sole survivor). That is the 'Brandon's son' that she wanted legitimized in this first chapter.


End file.
